Splash

by Charli Howard

  I decided I’d go and practise my diving instead. I swam over to the steps, listening to Chloe, Neada and Jess laughing hysterically at something particularly unfunny Tom had said.

  As I climbed out of the pool I took one more look behind me. No wonder the boys wanted to talk to the girls. They looked so pretty and dainty standing there in their costumes. Even if I did join them, I’d probably embarrass them somehow. Unlike Chloe, I’m not confident speaking in front of new groups of people, especially not lots of boys. It was better I kept to myself.

  I climbed the ladder and stood on the edge of the diving board, arms raised above my head like a ballerina. And then, in my mind, I was an Olympic athlete, about to perform the best dive the world had ever seen, with hundreds of people in the stadium chanting my name.

  Moll-y! Moll-y! Moll-y! Moll-y!

  Until I realised that people were chanting at me.

  “Jump, whale, jump!” Tom yelled from across the pool, his voice echoing across the tiles.

  Suddenly I snapped out of my daydream. All I could hear was the sound of endless laughter rippling across the water and I wished I could dive into a pool of darkness, never to be seen again.

  4

  I didn’t stay for the rest of Chloe’s party. I couldn’t face it. I ran into the changing rooms, trying my hardest not to cry, and called Nan from the cheap mobile she’d bought me for emergencies.

  “Everything all right?” Nan answered, sounding slightly panicked.

  “I feel really ill, Nan,” I lied, my voice wobbling. “I was almost sick in the pool. I really don’t want to ruin the rest of Chloe’s birthday. Can you please come and pick me up?”

  Chloe, Neada and Jess followed me into the changing room and begged me not to go. Chloe said I’d ruin the rest of her birthday if I left, but I lied to them too, saying I felt poorly. It wasn’t a total lie, because the shame made me feel as though I had a million butterflies trapped in my tummy, beating hard against my ribcage.

  I’d never been more embarrassed in my life. All I could think about was Tom Beckett yelling “Jump, whale, jump!” over and over in my head.

  The girls waited with me outside for Nan to arrive. Neada put her arm round my shoulders and Jess linked her arm through mine. Chloe huffed and puffed and kept complaining about how selfish I was being.

  Seeing Nan’s car pull up in the car park made me feel as though I was being rescued. I ran to the car as quickly as I could, heart thumping beneath my jumper at the thought of seeing Tom and the Sheep again. I just wanted to go home.

  Nan asked what I wanted for tea but I was too upset to eat. I think she knew I wasn’t really ill but she didn’t say anything. She wrapped me up in a blanket on the sofa, made me a hot chocolate and we watched some silly game shows on TV with Grandad until I went upstairs to bed.

  I cried and cried and cried that night. I tried to be quiet so that Nan and Grandad wouldn’t hear me, but I sobbed into my pillow until my face felt hot and my eyes turned puffy.

  I couldn’t remember ever crying as much as this. I never cry. Grandad says I’ve never cried as much as the day my mum left, as we watched her climb into the passenger side of her new boyfriend’s car and drive off down the road.

  I don’t know much about my mum at all. I don’t know what she does for a job, or what her house is like, or what her favourite colour is. I don’t remember a lot about her at all, except for the smell of a fancy perfume she used to wear that she’d left in Nan and Grandad’s bathroom cabinet.

  I have a photo of her on my bedside table but she might as well be a stranger. She’s pretty – not as pretty as Chloe’s mum, but still good-looking – with lots of piercings in her ears and long, light-brown hair that almost comes down to her waist. She’s laughing and wearing a leather jacket, sitting on a wall outside without a care in the world.

  Grandad says she’s not “fit to be a mother”, which I find a bit odd, as in every photo I’ve seen of her she looks very slim. Nan says he shouldn’t say things like that about his own daughter but Grandad says he doesn’t care. He says it would take her two minutes to send an email or a text – two minutes to let us know she’s alive and well. I used to get postcards from her sometimes but I haven’t in a long time. I’d actually rather she never wrote to me again, because then I could forget about her completely, instead of getting my hopes up.

  I wonder what my life would’ve been like if she’d raised me properly. Maybe we’d have gone on fun adventures around the world together – trekking through the jungle with exotic animals for pets, or having dinner over coal fires and dancing with ancient tribes. I could be homeschooled by her, so I’d never have to deal with mean people like Chloe or Tom Beckett again. And then we’d write a book about our amazing adventures together, selling millions of copies across the globe, where girls would feel envious of our special mother–daughter bond.

  I bet she’d be a lot more relaxed with certain things than Nan is. She’d probably be like Chloe’s mum, letting me do whatever I want and buying me presents. From what I’ve heard, she seems very carefree and easy-going. Maybe a bit too much … but mums are meant to be fun, aren’t they?

  Nan woke me up on Sunday morning. She sat on the edge of my bed with a cup of tea and shook me gently, but I was already awake.

  “I thought we could go for breakfast at the café down the road,” she said. “My treat. You must be starving by now, poor thing.”

  I was so upset by what had been said yesterday that I hadn’t thought about food in the slightest, but I love eating at the café with Nan. It’s always such a treat. We order big fried breakfasts that we can never finish, and sometimes I’m allowed a milkshake as well. If Nan was trying to cheer me up, it was working.

  “Nan,” I asked as we headed down the road. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Anything,” she replied. “You know that.”

  I took a deep breath. “Do you think I’m fat?”

  Nan glanced down at me and laughed loudly. “You?! Fat?” she said. “Of course not. Why, did someone say something to you?”

  “No,” I lied, although I’m not a very good liar. My voice suddenly went high-pitched. “No. I just feel fat compared to Chloe, Neada and Jess. They’re just so … so…”

  “Petite?” Nan replied.

  I guessed “petite” was a posh word for looking small. “Yes. Petite.”

  “They’re just built differently to you,” she said. “You’re a lot taller than them and your shoulders are broader, but that doesn’t mean you’re fat. All girls are built differently.”

  I wanted to argue and tell her she was wrong – that both Chloe and Tom had said things about my weight in the space of a few hours, so it must’ve been true. But I didn’t want to upset her. Nan had once had a row with Chloe’s mum after Chloe had made me cry at school and I didn’t want her doing it again.

  “There’s a big difference between being taller and bigger than someone and being fat,” she said. “We eat healthy meals at home and you exercise.” She raised an eyebrow at me. “I hope this isn’t something you’ve read about in a magazine or seen on the telly.”

  I rarely looked at magazines – Nan’s weekly ones were so boring and always had stupid stories in them – and I certainly didn’t compare myself to anyone in them or on TV. In fact, until Chloe had said I was fat in the car, I’d honestly never compared my body to anyone. My body was just that: a body.

  “Neada’s family are all tiny people,” she continued. “She’ll never be tall like you. Someone like Jess is built for running, because she has long legs. And Chloe’s mum and dad are both slim, so she’s bound to look that way.” She grabbed on to my arm protectively as we crossed the road. “None of them have got strong arms or legs like you. They’ll never be able to swim the way you do, but I bet they wish they could. You have a swimmer’s body! And that’s why you do so well at it.”

  We sat in our favourite spot by the café window and Nan picked up a copy of the Sunday paper. There w
as a fashion magazine in the middle, so she handed it to me and began reading something about a footballer kissing someone he shouldn’t have.

  The women smiling back at me from the pages of the magazine had the sort of bodies Neada, Chloe and Jess had – thin. They were wearing the prettiest clothes and the highest heels. Their teeth were perfectly symmetrical and their hair was the shiniest I’d ever seen. But no matter how much I flicked through the magazine, no one inside had a body shaped like mine.

  “Why don’t I look like these women?” I asked Nan, holding the magazine up in front of her face. Nan wrapped her hands around her tea and looked at me over her glasses.

  “Those women don’t look like those women,” she said, her forehead knitting into a frown. “They’re models. They’re all airbrushed on a computer to look that way. You can remove their spots in an instant, or give them a thinner waist or bigger boobs, all with the click of a mouse. And even if they are that thin in real life, a lot of them are miserable trying to stay that way.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “They’ll stop eating just to fit into clothes,” she said. “Imagine that! Not eating anything nice because you want to fit into a skirt or pair of jeans.”

  I had to admit – that didn’t sound much fun.

  “I’ll tell you one thing,” she said. “I’d rather look a bit bigger, eat nice meals and be happy. Worrying about what you look like all the time doesn’t sound like much of a life at all.”

  5

  I dreaded waking up on Monday morning for school. I really didn’t want to face the girls and have them bring up what had happened at the weekend. Chloe must’ve thought I was the biggest baby in the world for leaving her party early and not talking to the boys like the others had.

  What if she’d told everyone else in class about what Tom Beckett had said to me? The last thing I wanted was the rest of the school finding out and making fun of me too. My tummy was doing somersaults as I walked up to the school gates. I pictured people standing on both sides of the corridor, laughing at me like an animal in a circus.

  No one said anything as I hurried up the school path. They didn’t say anything as I raced down the school corridor. In fact, nobody batted an eyelid at me at all.

  Neada and Jess were acting friendlier towards me than usual though, waving to me as I walked through the classroom door. They bounced over, linking arms with mine on either side.

  “Are you feeling any better, Mol?” Jess asked. “We really missed you at Chloe’s.”

  “It wasn’t the same without you there,” said Neada. “It was a bit boring, actually.”

  “Chloe was really bossy,” Jess added. “And the takeaway wasn’t very nice either.”

  I nodded and gave them a faint smile. I knew they knew I wasn’t really ill, but I was so glad they weren’t bringing up what Tom and the Sheep had said. And it certainly made me feel a lot better to think I’d been missed at the party, whether or not Chloe felt the same way.

  Chloe arrived late to class. She came and sat at our table and threw her bag noisily on the floor. Mrs Ingram raised her eyebrows at her disapprovingly and tutted.

  “You missed a great sleepover,” she whispered to me, pulling out her pencil case. “Wasn’t it great, guys?”

  Neada and Jess nodded sheepishly.

  “We stayed up till three in the morning watching films,” Chloe said. “It was so much fun, wasn’t it, guys? You really missed out.”

  “Quiet, Chloe,” Mrs Ingram said, and the three of us stared down into our notebooks.

  I was on my way to lunch with Chloe when I heard someone call my name.

  “Molly!”

  It was Mr Davidson, my swimming teacher, dressed in a navy tracksuit and carrying his PE kit over one shoulder.

  “Do you have a moment to chat?” he asked. “It’s about the swimming regionals that are coming up.”

  Chloe looked at me with a smug expression on her face. Great. Discussing swimming regionals was the last thing I needed to chat about after the weekend, especially in front of her.

  I really didn’t want Chloe to think I was a baby any more.

  “I’m a bit busy for swimming club, actually,” I replied cockily, folding my arms. Chloe sniggered. Unlike her, I’d never spoken to a teacher like that before and I wasn’t sure where it had come from. It didn’t sound like me at all.

  Mr Davidson did not seem pleased. I regretted what I’d said instantly.

  “Do you mind if I speak to Molly alone, please?” he asked, turning to Chloe. It was clear from his tone that Chloe didn’t have a say in the matter, and Chloe usually has an answer for everything.

  “Erm … OK. See you at lunch, Molly,” she said, and wandered off, looking over her shoulder a few times to see if she was missing out on anything important.

  “Molly,” he said, turning to me. “I know looking cool in front of your friends seems like the most important thing in the world right now, but trust me – it isn’t. You have such a great talent. Why would you want to throw that away?”

  I didn’t want to throw anything away, especially not a swimming competition. The thing was, I knew Mr Davidson was right but I didn’t want to be a laughing stock at the pool again. And although Chloe couldn’t care less about how she spoke to people, I felt bad for being rude.

  “I do know that it’s hard for you to get to the extra training sessions in the mornings,” he said, before I’d even had a chance to reply. “And I was wondering – if it’s OK with you, of course – whether I could ask your grandparents about driving you to practice myself? I already drive Ed in the mornings and I think it would be a great way for you to improve.”

  I wanted to scream “YES!” at the top of my voice so that the whole world could hear. Going to morning swimming practices with the others was all I’d wanted to do for such a long time. I often felt I missed out on special in-jokes and other stories that Ed and the group shared when I saw them on Wednesday evenings.

  But another part of me was worried about being seen in my swimming costume again. And I worried about Chloe not thinking I was cool enough. I needed Chloe to be onside when we went to St Margaret’s, just like she’d been throughout primary school. After all, Neada and Jess were best friends and could depend on each other. My supposed best friend was Chloe. And putting up with some of the mean things Chloe said or did was much better than being alone.

  “We only have a few weeks left to practise before regionals,” he said. “But just think – if you managed to win a bronze with hardly any practice, imagine what you could win with a bit more?”

  Grandad would be ecstatic if I won another competition. I desperately wanted to make him happy. But I also wanted to stay in Chloe’s good books. What was I going to do?

  Then an idea came to me. What if I went to practices in secret? They started at seven in the morning. Chloe would never need to know I’d been. I’d still arrive to school at the same time in the mornings. She’d never know about me competing in the regional swimming contest either – it wasn’t being held in school or at the leisure centre we went to on her birthday. And best of all, Grandad would be proud of me too.

  It was the best idea I’d ever had. It was a win–win situation!

  “OK, Mr Davidson,” I replied. “I’m sure my nan would be fine with that.”

  As I sat down to lunch, Chloe leaned over to me.

  “What did Mr Davidson want?” she asked nosily, munching on her crisps.

  “Oh, just about competing in some lame swimming competition with the club,” I replied, trying to sound as unbothered as possible.

  I watched a look of awkwardness creep up on Neada’s and Jess’s faces. As much as I wanted them to, they clearly hadn’t forgotten about what Tom had said on Saturday.

  “Don’t worry though,” I said quickly, trying to sound upbeat. “I’m over swimming now. It’s like you said, Chloe. Swimming club is for babies and geeks.”

  I smiled at them and bit into my sandwich, t
rying to make the atmosphere a bit less tense. I didn’t want them thinking I was still hurting from the other day. Neada and Jess looked at one another, but they didn’t say anything.

  “God, look at Gabby Morris,” Chloe whispered, and we all turned to look. She was sitting alone again, eating her lunch.

  “Shouldn’t we invite her over to come and sit with us?” I asked. “I feel bad that she’s eating on her own.”

  “She looks sad,” Neada said. “I’d hate to sit on my own.”

  “Me too,” said Jess. “I’ll go and ask her to join us.” She stood up and went to leave the table.

  “Jess, no!” Chloe hissed, grabbing her arm fiercely. “We don’t want to be seen with her! We’ll never live it down. She’s just so … so … embarrassing.”

  Jess looked at Chloe with a mixture of anger and disappointment. She clearly wanted to say something back at her, but instead she just slunk back in her seat. Neada would never stand up to Chloe, and I wouldn’t either. But in that moment I felt like a total coward for not doing so.

  “Guys,” Chloe said. “I know you think I’m being a total cow for saying that, but you have to understand. We could be the coolest girls joining St Margaret’s! We could be the girls that all the other girls want to be and who all the boys want to go out with. All of that preparation starts now. And that means choosing the people you’re seen with carefully.”

  If being cool meant hanging around with Chloe, and being mean to other people, I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to be her friend at all.

  6

  Grandad opened the door when I got home from school that night with a massive grin on his face.

  “I’ve just spoken to Mr Davidson!” he said, giving me a hug. “How exciting!”